Page 3 of Handle with Care
A few paper towels and minutes later, I re-emerge from the men’s washroom. I’ve done my best to wipe down the dripping water running off me and attempted to dry my hair by sticking my head not quite in, but adjacent to, the Dyson hand dryer. My face is flushed from the heat, but at least I look less drowned. I’d been going for smart casual with a light jacket for June, figuring the umbrella would protect me from the elements, not counting on my own drenching storm cloud. I didn’t bargain on having to walk all the way from London Bridge or how gusty it is along the Thames or the odds of some jerk splashing me.
When I go back to the foyer, with my jacket over my arm and my pink shirt only sort of wet, my new nemesis, William Martin-Greene—Mr. McLaren—and Carine stand together talking likeold pals. A blond woman joins them, coming from the lift in the opposite direction.
Carine turns to me. “Oh, Dylan. We can give you an extra T-shirt from one of our recent exhibitions, if you would like?”
“Thanks, that’s very kind of you.” I offer as cheerful a smile as I can.
She goes back to her desk. “I’ll make a call.”
The woman turns to us and smiles—after a long moment where she does her best not to stare at me and my bedraggled look, which is anything but high fashion. She recovers quickly after giving me the once-over. “Hello. I’m Lily, and you must be Will and Dylan. It’s such good luck that you’re both starting today. Are you quite alright, Dylan?”
“Never better.” Which is only a part fib, because I’m thrilled to bits to be in London and the museum on day one of my internship. I’m way less thrilled about Mr. McLaren literally making waves.
I’m not convinced luck is involved in this situation one bit.
Mr. McLaren and I look at each other.
“I didn’t realize you are taking on two interns.” He’s unable to keep the disdain from his voice.
I open my mouth and shut it. To be fair, I’m having the same thought. Also, the fact that she called him Will hasn’t escaped me, like they know each other. He must have had an interview with her to get the job. But I’m surprised they’re on a nickname basis. This isn’t a good sign.
“You’ll be in different departments after the orientation this morning,” Lily explains. “Dylan, you’ll be with me in Curatorial. Will, I understand you have a meeting after lunch with the director, and then you will join the Development team later.”
My eyebrows lift at the mention of his private meeting with the director. Not that I particularly want to meet the director. It sounds odd. And obviously, it’s not an even playing field. Butthank God he’s going to be in a different department. That’s a win.
“Let’s go to the galleries,” Lily says after we pick up our guest security badges from Carine, set aside for us. “I think that’s the best place to start. You can leave your things here if you wish.”
I hang my jacket on a nearby hook. Carine comes back with a black T-shirt for me featuring a small logo on the chest with the museum’s branding and the exhibition name in large, stylized lettering on the back,Modern Structures. I put it on over my pink shirt, which conveniently covers up the large wet patch over my front. Without further delay, we’re off.
Lily takes us to the gallery, with spot-lit fashion and fashion photographs since the new millennium began. My earlier excitement returns as Lily tours us around the museum, and it all starts to sink in. The building brims with cool exhibits, from the avant-garde to historical objects, fashion to product design in both temporary and permanent exhibitions. And I’m smiling again.
At lunchtime, I head out on a mission. I have an hour, and I backtrack to the train station. I’m not headed home—I’m off to the florist’s I saw that morning to give thanks to Carine for helping me. I buy a modest bouquet, along with a cheese and tomato sandwich for myself from the nearby Marks and Spencer. After lunch, when I present the flowers to Carine, she’s shocked but delighted.
I’m soon at my very own desk and assigned a new laptop computer. I’m also given a work phone. I spend the afternoon mostly doing HR paperwork. In the tearoom, I run into Dee, anassistant curator I was introduced to earlier when Lily showed Will and me around.
Dee smiles as she enters. I’m standing waiting for the kettle to boil.
“Want some tea?” I ask, gesturing at the kettle. There’s a cupboard full of tea options for us to choose from, which I’ve gone through.
“That’d be lovely, thanks.”
“I figure I could at least make myself useful with tea since I feel so behind on everything else,” I admit, gesturing at the tea box now on the counter with its buffet of offerings, from black tea to herbal and beyond. “There’s so much to learn.”
She chuckles and then finds a mug for herself, setting it down next to mine with a clink. The kettle rumbles as it heats. “Don’t worry, you’re not even a day into the job. You’ll get used to everything soon enough. And everyone’s dead impressed with the flowers you brought in. Carine’s raving about you and how terrible it was earlier when you washed up at the museum.”
I give a wry grin, touching my hair, now sculpted into something salvageable. “Yeah. I’m dried off now, don’t worry.” I gesture at my exhibition T-shirt. I’ve changed out of my actual shirt, left to dry on a hanger, along with my blazer by the radiator behind Carine’s desk. My trousers, at least, are black and half-dry by now.
“You hardly looked like a drowned rat!”
“That’s a relief. Hopefully, I don’t look like any kind of rodent.”
She laughs again. “Not at all. Where are you from, anyway? I know you’re Canadian and our new Curatorial intern, but that’s about all I know.”
“I’m from Vancouver. I’ve recently graduated from my undergrad at UBC in museum studies. I volunteered at the UBC Museum of Anthropology, and for a professor with her researchproject too. Maybe one day, I’ll go for my master’s degree, but I’m really excited to be here and learn. It’s such a dream to come to London. Even if it’s only for three months.” I look wistful. At least it’s three months. “There are so many museums here. And so much to do.”
“Maybe you’ll get to stay on,” she says encouragingly while she chooses her tea. I pour hot water into our mugs. “There’s talk of getting budget for a new permanent curatorial position at the end of the summer. But we’ll see.”
My stomach knots with excitement at the idea. “I can only hope.”
